


I Need Your Hand

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Post-Movie(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6900490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, they need this to cope with the nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need Your Hand

“Tired?” Harry asks. 

“Very.” Eggsy groans and turns over on his side. He has had a long day at Kingsman HQ, where Harry had the pleasure of entertaining someone from Statesman, then watching a spar between the two agents. Eggsy had been light on his feet and was able to improvise more easily, but in the end, he’d been beaten.

To be fair, Jack had been in commission for nearly twice as long as Eggsy had, but he'd clapped a hand on Eggsy’s shoulder, and instead of lording his victory over him, said, “You gave me quite the fight.” He then nodded at Eggsy, then Harry with the faintest hint of a smirk on his face. “I can see why Arthur likes you so much.”

Eggsy sputtered—their relationship was, although not a secret, still private enough that they didn’t kiss in HQ, unless it was in the privacy of one of their offices—and Harry gave the American agent a stern look. “Do try not to tease Galahad in the future, good sir.”

All the same, Harry couldn’t help feeling a little pleased that Jack had sensed he and Eggsy were not mere colleagues. This whole thing is still a little new, beginning after Harry had unknowingly crashed his own funeral and ending with a hug that nearly took the breath out of him. 

His reminiscing had been cut short when Jack said, “By the way, Arthur, you’re due in a week to come to Statesman HQ for another diplomatic meeting. Will you…be all right coming around?”

Harry had nodded absentmindedly, watching Eggsy stretching his arms over his head and flexing his wrists. It had only been after Jack had left the room that Harry had realized this: Statesman HQ was in Kentucky.

There’s no moral high ground to claim, following V-Day, but even so, a few American agents were wary in his presence, even in the days of drifting in and out of a drug-fueled haze in their medical wing. Harry accepts all the blame, even though a logical part of his mind tells him that Valentine and Gazelle are the ones who decided to test out their machine on civilians, but that doesn’t stop him from dreaming of bodies sprawled across the waxed floors and pews, blood drying in the Kentucky heat under his oxfords and on his skin, and his own hands trembling in the need to hurt, to _kill_ , to—

“Penny for your thoughts?” Eggsy suddenly asks. 

Harry closes his eyes, refusing to look at him. Eggsy’s concerned tone makes it worse. “Just reviewing paperwork and missions and all sort of bureaucratic nonsense.” 

Eggsy’s silent for a minute. “It’s about your meeting next week, isn’t it?” 

Mentally, Harry’s torn between feeling relieved that Eggsy knows and horrified for the very same reason. “It might be,” he says. 

Eggsy’s voice is quiet. “Do you…” 

“No,” Harry quickly says, having no desire to burden Eggsy, who already has  enough on his shoulders, any longer. “No, Eggsy. Go to bed.” 

Eggsy says nothing else, only moving to rest his head on Harry’s chest and put his arms around him. Harry’s right hand goes up, settling on his head and beginning to run fingers through the strands. 

Outside, the patter of the rain is soothing, and the soft breathing of Eggsy helps lull Harry into sleep.

_It’s too bright, and too hot for this suit, but the only heat Harry’s focused on is the liquid dripping from his fingers. A woman screams when Harry dashes her head against a tabernacle, a man cries out in agony when Harry stakes a knife right in the center of his head, and another man howls when Harry turns his lighter on his unprotected face. Moving so quickly that bullets and projectiles whiz past his head, Harry shoots and spins and uses the body he’s locked in a restraining hold as a shield._

_He has no objective but to kill, and everyone in this church is in the way._

_A woman bounces across the floor, eyes stunned and arms flopping, and Harry deftly shoots her in the chest, then throws a man onto the ground when he stabs him in the shoulder. The nerve! As if he can harm him and get away with it!_

_Slipping a grenade into someone’s pocket, he throws him into the organ, into a pile of bodies, but one of the men lunges for him, bare-handed._

_Harry’s faster, though, and throws him back._

_The man tumbles onto the floor, mouth open and eyes furious. They’re green, maybe blue, maybe the same color as an ocean in the early morning, shrouded in the mist. His head is matted with blood, and when the sunlight touches it, it gleams bright red against his dark hair._

_He snatches a gun from the floor and fires at Harry._

_The bullet hits him square in the chest, but Harry wordlessly lets it absorb and aims his own gun at him._

_Then, the grenade he put in someone’s pocket explodes, and for_ _a horrible second, as the ringing in his ears stops, Harry knows what he’s done._

_Eggsy gasps, dropping his gun. “Harry. Harry _—” His voice is agonized.__

__But it ends, the ringing comes back, and Harry hits him in the jaw with the handle of his weapon._ _

__The man stumbles back, falls on the floor again. His eyes are wide._ _

_“Harry,” Eggsy gurgles, blood running down his chin. “Harry, don’t—”_

_What is this mewing, this meek begging? Harry has no patience for this, and e_ _verything overwhelms him to kill._

_He raises the gun in his head and silences the pleading, turning away before the body thumps against the wooden floor._

“Harry! Harry, are you all right?” 

Harry wakes, hand reached out as if he has a gun in his hand, and sees Eggsy half-standing on the edge of the bed, arms outstretched. “Harry,” Eggsy says again, voice calm. “Harry, it’s all right.” 

Harry lowers his arm, ashamed. “I apologize,” he says stiffly, too stiffly for a man who just had just dreamed of his lover being shot by his own hand. He wants to get down on his knees and beg for remorse, for forgiveness, and half-hopes Eggsy won’t give it to him.

“It’s not your fault,” Eggsy says easily, too easily. He’s probably used to swiftly dismissing violence against his person, Harry realizes, probably used to using himself as a shield. How many times had his horrible stepfather stepped forward and hit Eggsy, hard enough to make him bleed? How many times had Eggsy held his arms over his face or curled up into a ball to lessen the blows? How many times had Eggsy begged for his safety, only to be rewarded with a cuff across his face?

“Eggsy, no,” Harry begins to protest, but Eggsy shakes his head.

“Harry, I’m fine. I’m fine, and you’re safe.” Eggsy waves his arm around the room: their room, where Harry had drawn the covers over Eggsy the first time Eggsy had tentatively lingered at the doorway and asked to come in. He had been almost shy, waiting for Harry’s permission, then slipped underneath the blankets and folded his arms around Harry’s body. Harry hadn’t been held like this, and it was until he heard Eggsy’s soft snores that he realized he’d been processing the warmth of the embrace the entire time.

Eggsy had felt safe enough to let his guard down like this, and how had Harry repaid him?

“Stop,” Eggsy now says, voice a little louder. “Stop thinking about it. It was a dream. Would you really hurt me in real life?”

But this is real life, no longer contained in a nightmare. “No, but—”

“Harry. It’s all right. Okay? Come back to bed.” 

“I can’t.”

Eggsy leans forward, lips to his ear. “It’s my fault, too, Harry. And V-Day? My fault, too. I didn’t stop it. Twice.”

Harry shakes his head. He’d suspected for a long time that Eggsy put the weight of V-Day fully on his conscience, but to hear such a thing makes him want to draw Eggsy closer and hold him until this passes. But, he knows, it won’t. Not that easily. 

“Eggsy, no,” Harry protests. “I should have stopped it first. Should have—”

Eggsy interrupts, _“Harry,”_   then kisses him, swallowing his protests.

It’s something meant to calm him down, Harry knows, but it does the opposite. His heart skips, and his fingers close around Eggsy’s shoulders, bracing, as a starfish does to a rock. He knows, somewhere so deep down that it almost scares him, that he needs Eggsy, Eggsy who has crashed into his life with his cheeky smirks and bold speeches and reassuring grins. He needs him like water or food or shelter, but he also _wants_. He wants to hold him and to never let him go and to always, always have him by his side.

Harry’s one step away from declaring he will die without Eggsy Unwin when the man in question pulls away for air.

Eggsy breathes against his lips, and Harry realizes his grip has tightened, so much that the skin is bunched up beneath his palms. His lips look swollen and wet, with his pupils blown so wide that Harry can’t tell the color of his irises. Already, his bare chest is faintly damp with perspiration.

Surely, he’s hurt Eggsy, and filled with remorse, Harry opens his mouth to apologize once more when—

“Yes,” Eggsy whispers, eyes hooded, but his voice sounds soft, shy like the first night. “ _Yes_ , Harry.”

 _No,_ Harry wants to say, but he doesn’t let go.

“Please, Harry,” Eggsy whispers, looking at him in the dark. His breathing is labored. “Harry,  _please_ , fuck me.”

Harry’s breath comes out unsteady and shuddering, but his next kiss is sure and certain. He doesn’t let Eggsy go from the cage of his arms, only pressing him harder against the wall and lifting him so Eggsy’s toes just brush the carpet.

“Yes, Harry,” Eggsy breathes, eyes closed. “Yes.” His hands fumble with the elastic of his pants and slip them off, fabric pooling onto the floor. Harry backs up, letting Eggsy step out of them, then stills when the hands reach for the buttons of his nightshirt. “Let me take this off, too.”

The buttons tug, the silk and thread stretching, and Eggsy’s calloused hands slide up his bare chest. Harry stiffens, his flesh prickling at the gentle touch, surely nothing that he deserves.  

“It’s all right,” Eggsy whispers. “I know that you love me.” 

He bends his knees, slipping out of Harry’s hold, and begins kissing and scraping his teeth against his skin. Shuddering, Harry presses his body into the heat of Eggsy’s mouth, hands moving to clasp around Eggsy’s shoulders, _needing_ him. 

“Down we go,” Eggsy whispers, then with a quick tug of Harry’s trousers and a drop to his knees, takes him in his mouth. 

Harry feels himself stumbling back, the insides of his knees just nearly grazing the bed, but Eggsy takes Harry’s hips and makes him still, lips and tongue brushing over his flesh. Warm, _warm_ , like…

“You still with me? Come on, Harry, still with me?” 

When Harry nods, Eggsy’s tongue swipes at the underside of his cock, lips slowly closing over it, and Harry sighs, digs his fingers in harder, and whispers frantic pleas, especially when Eggsy’s own fingers slide inside him. 

“Eggsy _—”_

“Wait,” Eggsy whispers back, tone teasing. “Wait, Harry, let me _—”_

But that damnable young man pulls away, then Harry, in panting frustration, groans and, before he knows what he’s doing, spins Eggsy around so his back hits the wall. “No,” he finds himself gasping, “no.” 

Eggsy’s eyes are wide, and Harry realizes, belatedly, his fingers are stretched out towards the nightstand, where the lube is. 

“All right, then,” Eggsy breathes. “All right.” 

He looks up at Harry. His lashes are very long. “Fuck me, then. Please.”

Harry knocks his forehead against his and opens his mouth, breathing damp air onto Eggsy’s parted lips. _Are you sure?_

Eggsy puts both hands on Harry’s shoulders, slowly and deliberately. _Yes._

Slowly, carefully, not wanting to hurt Eggsy, Harry prepares him with slick and scissoring fingers, making sure to brush against the spot that makes Eggsy clutch his shoulders so tightly that they’ll leave finger-shaped bruises. Eggsy softly hisses, “please, please, _please_ ,” with his head resting on the wall, eyes screwed shut, and his legs are wound around Harry’s waist by the time Harry tugs his fingers out of him.

Harry kisses his ear. “Are you ready?”

“Always ready for you,” Eggsy says, and the confirmation makes Harry groan and enter Eggsy a little harder than usual.

They fuck against the wall, which shudders and clunks as their hips and Harry’s palms slam against it in a harsh rhythm. If Harry hadn’t soundproofed his house a long time ago, the neighbors would hear the relentless _thump-thump-thump_ and the loud gasps and cut-off wails, and a secret part of Harry doesn’t care. _Let them hear,_ he thinks. _Let them hear and be scandalized. Let them hear us—_

Making love? No, this is fucking, quick and dirty and hard. There’s no kissing, no sweet words, no gentleness. But Harry makes sure to breathe _yes, yes, yes,_ as Eggsy did, in the hollow of Eggsy’s ear. _I want you,_ he wants to say. _I want you, I need you, I love you._

Eggsy’s grip slackens, just a little on a particularly hard thrust, and Harry quickly catches him, arms around his waist and hands splayed across his back.

“I have you,” Harry says.

Eggsy sighs, “I know. Keep going, Harry, please.” He cranes his neck, burying his face into Harry’s shoulder. His teeth brush, then sink, into the bare flesh. 

It doesn’t take long for Harry to come, then Eggsy, and soon, Harry finds himself back in the bed, tending to Eggsy’s body by swiping a soft, damp cloth over the stickiness on his skin. 

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says, keeping his eyes on his soothing, repetitive motions. He doesn’t dare look at Eggsy’s face.

“Stop,” Eggsy snaps, sounding a little irritated as he sits up. He then kisses Harry on the cheek. “I love you.” Then his nose. “I love you.” Then his lips. “I love you.” 

Then, “I’ll come with you.” 

Harry pulls away, cloth trailing across Eggsy’s stomach and onto the bed. “What?”

“I’ll come with you,” Eggsy repeats, voice stronger, looking him in the eye. “To Kentucky, if the agency could spare me.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Harry says. _I don’t deserve this man,_ he thinks.

Eggsy shakes his head. “I know I don’t.” He reaches for Harry, brushing the hair that covers his ugly scar from Kentucky. “But I want to. And I want to be by your side.” His voice hardens with resolve. “You don’t have to do this alone.” 

Harry places a hand on Eggsy’s knee. “You don’t, either,” he says, and folds him into his arms.

They won’t be okay, Harry knows. Not one-hundred percent and not for a while _—_ maybe not ever. But he has Eggsy here, safe and at his side, and knows that Eggsy has him, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr!


End file.
